Postmark, Omaha.

She read it sitting on the front porch with Sadie at her feet, watching her.

“I’m all right. Don’t worry.”

Summer’s coming at last, your last.

My time of waiting is in the past.

Yours, mine, ours again to meet,

And with your death, my life completes.

 

“I’m all right,” she said again. “But whoever’s doing this isn’t anywhere in the wide universe of all right. Yours, mine, ours. What kind of bullshit is that?”

She shoved up to pace the porch while a hummingbird zipped like a flying jewel to the feeder she’d hung on a tree branch.

“And that last line, what does that mean? He kills me, he reaches a goal, or is it like murder-suicide? Kill me, end his own?

“Why am I trying to figure out the crazy?” She pressed her fingers to her eyes. “Somebody’s got to figure it out.”

She dropped her hands, looked out at the slope of the hills, green and lush, the trees, leafed out, the towering rhododendron in the side yard lush with fat pink blooms.

“He’s right about one thing. Summer’s definitely coming. And you know what? I’m sick of waiting, too.”

Maybe it was impulse, maybe it was reckless, but she didn’t care. At that moment, she just didn’t care.

She went in and upstairs to change into workout gear. She did her makeup—carefully. After some debate, she raked some product through her hair and styled it in a high, half-up ponytail.

“Casual sexy, right, Sadie? Who says you shouldn’t look your best when you throw down the gauntlet? Let’s go make a fucking statement.”

The dog went with her down to the studio, settled herself by the fireplace while Adrian set up for a recording.

She’d put it on her blog. He damn well followed her blog. Then she’d put it on all her social media for good measure.

“Let’s see how you like it, asshole.”

She hit record, beamed a smile.

“Hey, everyone. I’m Adrian Rizzo, and I thought we’d do a little bonus round this week. Just some quick energy and stress relief when you need it. It’s going to be a challenging one. But I want to send this one out, especially, to the poet—you know who you are!

“It’s easy to put things off, but what does it get you? Nothing and nowhere, right? You’re unhappy, stressed-out, putting off taking real action to get what you really want. You can blame someone else, you can blame the world, but what it comes down to is what’s in you.”

She tapped a fist lightly on her heart.

“When you feel that bad, feel that sad, feel that mad, get up and move. Now, this one’s not for beginners, but this poet’s been following me a long time, so this bonus is for the more experienced. Three rounds of three, thirty seconds each. We’re going to do split lunges, with squats.”

She stepped back to demonstrate.

“Right, left, squat. And we’re going to do them fast. Remember your form—safety and performance.”

She lowered into a lunge again. “Knee over ankle, weight front-loaded, get that back knee close to the floor. Then switch. Keep that landing soft. Then squat. Then drop down for pike up, spider leg—right—up again for split jacks. We do it all again, second round, left leg on the spider, then a third time, alternating legs.”

She demonstrated each, tossed back her ponytail.

“This takes endurance, strength, reaching for your guts. Can you make it? Nine minutes. Eyes on the prize. Timer’s set, and here we go.”

She hit the speed, keeping her eyes on the camera as she called out the moves.

“If you hit your max, stop, regroup. Get your mind right, and pick it up again. No shame in hitting your limit, the shame is never really trying. Keep your chest up, head up. Lower on those squats, butt back! Drop it! Pike up, spider leg, pike up, spider leg. Move it! I’m told summer’s coming, so let’s get that bod in shape. Yours, mine, ours. We’re ready to do this! Now jack it up!”

She couldn’t stop, wouldn’t stop. She’d made her damn point, finally.

“Round two. If you lose your form, take a break, then get back in. I’m challenging you to get to it.”

Her heart pounded as much from satisfaction as exertion. Sweat slicked her skin, but she kept tracking her eyes back to the camera as she pushed through the third round.

To the one who watched.

“And there’s nine minutes. Cool it down, stretch it out. Congratulations to anyone who gave that a shot. Now bring up your favorite cooldown, bring down that heart rate, stretch out those hard-worked muscles. And remember …

“My life is mine to live strong. If you think you can stop me, you’re wrong. I’ll push away the doubt and fear because my own destiny I steer.”

And she laughed. “Ah, a little lame, but it shows everybody’s a poet. Until next time, this is Adrian Rizzo. Stay fit. Stay fierce.”

She watched it through once, then put it on her blog under Bonus Round Challenge, added it to her social media.

“I bet this is going to piss you off. Good.”

She hydrated, stretched.

“Let’s go outside, Sadie, and leave the phone here. Because when Teesha sees this—she’ll probably be the first of many—she’s going to be very angry. Let’s just go out and check the tomatoes.”

It took Teesha less than twenty minutes to storm the gates.

She marched around to the back, where Adrian threw the ball for an ecstatic Sadie.

“Not answering your phone is the equivalent of putting your fingers in your ears and going: La la la.”

“Maybe, yeah, but I wanted a little cool-off time. You’re fast.”

“I want you to take it off—everything. You know I can, I have authorization, but—”

“You know it’s my choice. Leaving it up is my choice.”

“It’s the wrong choice.”

“Is it? Is sucking it up for all these years the right one? Letting other people deal with it when it’s aimed at me? That’s the right choice?”

“Police, Rizz; FBI, now a private investigator. Professionals. So yeah, that’s the smart choice.”

“And even with all of that, I got another one today.”

“I figured.” Teesha scrubbed her hands over her face. “And I’m sorry. You know I’m sorry, but how is challenging him going to help, at all?”

“Because he’s a coward, and a bully, and it’s long past time I let him know I know.”

“What did this one say?”

Adrian closed her eyes, brought it back into her head, recited the words.

“Freaking psycho!” Hands on her hips, Teesha turned two circles. “What time is the PI due?”

“Four, maybe four-thirty.”

“Okay, you come home with me, hang there until. He could be a mile away, Adrian.”

“Or he could be in damn Omaha. And this is exactly why I had to do something. I can’t keep going like this. He’s accomplished at least some of what he wanted. He screws with my head. I dread the stupid mail. And yeah, yeah, a suggestion was to close the PO Box, but the conclusion was also he’d just find another way.”

“But he might make a mistake the other way.”